A Higher Frequency
by AdieBishop
Summary: Set after Committed, Sara must face her fears as Grissom realizes, and conquers, his own.  GSR.
1. Chapter 1

(set after _Committed_)

"_Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom."_

_Bertrand Russell_

**1.**

"Hey."

He pulled the door closed behind him.

Sara Sidle looked up and then turned around.

"Are you a spiritual person?"

He closed the door behind him and Sara shifted her weight.

"Sometimes."

He walked slowly toward her as she stared at him.

"You believe that everything happens for a reason, that bad things are there to teach us a karmic lesson? Y'know, maybe all our problems can be cured by tuning into a higher frequency?"

Sara held the needle behind her back as she inched further away from him, stopping against the desk, and he moved closer.

"There's this one guy I read, he believes that illness, anxiety, and fear…all occur when people are vibrating at ten-thousand cycles a second."

Sara nodded and lunged at him with the needle. He darted from in front of her and she missed him, the needle hitting the floor, and he grabbed her and pulled her to the floor. He held her there and when she elbowed him and tried to move, he brought a sharp, white object to her throat.

"If they could just get up to a hundred-thousand cycles per second they'd be in the realm of sound, light and spirit, and everything'd be just fine, right?" he continued.

"Yeah…"

"You know what I think?"

Grissom walked alongside another man, toward the nurse's station.

"I think I'm just vibrating at the wrong frequency."

Sara struggled against him, her hands grasping his arm around her, and he pressed the object to her throat.

"Don't…"

"It's okay…"

The man with Gil Grissom turned the knob to find it locked.

Grissom's brows furrowed---the door was open only minutes ago---why would Sara lock the door?

He looked through the window and froze.

"Oh dear God…"

Inside the nurse's station Adam began to panic.

"You think I'm smart?" he asked, a mixture of pain and anger in his voice.

"Yeah, uh-huh…" Sara looked up at Grissom, his eyes fixated on the scene in front of him, fear and desperation in his eyes.

"You think I'm right?" Adam continued, and Sara grunted.

Grissom stared at the scene, his eyes unmoving.

"Open the door."

The man turned the key to no avail. "I can't, I don't have the right key!"

"I do…" Sara answered, her panic almost consuming her.

"Just open it," Grissom pleaded, the calmness in his voice frightening, "_Please open the door_…"

The man turned and ran down the hall, leaving Grissom alone. "Red light!"

"Don't you move a muscle, I will grind you, you bitch!" Adam yelled, pressing the makeshift knife to her now red throat, "You hear me? You _do not_ look at them!"

Sara nodded frantically.

"You keep your eyes on the floor!"

_Sara looked at him, her eyes not full of fear, but of anger, and Grissom stared at her desperately. He was frozen, unable to move, afraid to move, and in an instant it happened: in one swift swipe, Adam Trent cut Sara's throat. Blood shot out rapidly as Sara's face became pale as she bled out in front of him. He stood there, helpless and horrified as her body fell limp to the floor._

Grissom stepped away from the window and looked around. He spotted the security guard at the end of the hallway.

"We need help!"

The man took a few steps and looked around.

"Now!" Grissom yelled, and the guard sprinted toward him. He looked through the glass and back to Grissom. "The door's locked…"

"Shoot it."

The guard frowned. "I can't just…"

"Shoot the lock!" Grissom yelled, and the man removed his gun.

"I can't…"

"Shoot or she'll be killed!"

The guard glanced through the glass again and then down the empty hallway.

"Okay, okay," Sara breathed, trying to calm Adam down, "It's okay…"

"You think I'm right?" he asked again, now crying, and Sara nodded. "Yeah, uh-huh…you're right…okay? It's gonna be okay, Adam…"

Adam rested his head on Sara's shoulder and sobbed. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry," he cried, and then turned the knife on himself. The guard shot the lock as Adam cut his own throat, and Grissom grabbed Sara. He jerked her forward and pulled her to her feet, holding her, but she broke away from him and ran down the hall. Grissom stepped back, eyed Adam and the crew of nurses running into the room, and then stared down the hall at Sara.

"Jesus," he whispered, and Sara pounded her fist on the wall.

Sara sipped her coffee in the break room when a breathless Greg entered. "Sara, you okay? I heard what happened and I just wanted to come see if you were all right or if you needed anything or…"

"Greg," Sara interrupted.

He took a breath. "Yeah."

"I'm fine."

Greg nodded. "Uh-huh."

Sara shook her head. "I don't need someone to rescue me, okay?"

"Rescue you from what, Sara?"

Greg turned and Sara looked up as Grissom walked into the room.

She smiled. "Well Greggo here seems to think I need a hero."

Greg rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"And I am."

"And you are," he echoed, "so I'll go work now," he added, glancing at Grissom.

Gil allowed a slight smile to escape him as Greg walked out of the room. He sat down across from Sara and she looked at him.

"What?" he asked finally, and Sara shook her head.

After a long silence she looked at him again.

"Grissom…"

He flipped through a file and answered without looking up. "Yeah?"

"What would you have done if there had been no way to open the door?"

Grissom stopped flipping through the file; she'd caught him off guard. He took his glasses off and massaged the bridge of his nose.

He thought a moment and then sighed. "I don't know."

"I mean, if Adam would've…"

"Sara," Grissom said quickly, cutting her off, "I'm really not prepared to talk about this."

Sara nodded and finished her coffee as she stood up.

"Well uh, I'm gonna get back to work," and she headed out of the break room.

Grissom closed his eyes a minute before putting his glasses back on and getting back to the file in front of him.

Sara stepped into Grissom's office with a paper in hand and a smile on her face.

"Guess who Adam Trent's mother is?"

Grissom looked up just as Nurse McKay stormed into his office.

"This is your fault!" she hissed, and dove for Sara, knocking her into the metal shelf full of Gil's specimens. It came crashing down, taking Sara with it, and Grissom grabbed the woman and called out for Warrick. Warrick took the woman out of the office as Grissom lifted the shelf off of Sara.

He helped her up and saw that she was soaking wet and had cuts all along her face, arms, and hands.

"Are you all right?"

Sara nodded and frowned. "So anyway," she said, ringing her hair, "guess who?"

Grissom nodded. "Yeah."

"Man, this stuff reeks."

"I'm taking you off the case," Grissom said as he took the surgical tape from Sara and taped her hand.

"What? You can't."

He looked at her.

She grimaced. "I'm fine!"

Grissom raised an eyebrow and put the tape down.

Sara shook her head and laughed. "That's uh, that's great, Grissom. Thanks. Maybe I should go tell Greg that I _do_ need someone to rescue me because that's what everyone around here seems to think, right? That I need to be protected constantly?"

"No one thinks that."

"Apparently you do, you're taking me off the case."

"You've been hurt."

"I'm telling you that I can do this."

Grissom looked at her, saw the determination on her face, and sighed.

"Sara, do you remember when you asked what I would have done, had there been no way to open that door?"

Sara nodded and waited for him to continue, but he didn't. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I know you're more than capable of finishing this case," he shrugged, "or any other case." His voice softened, "but I don't want to chance losing you."

Sara grinned. "Because I'm your favorite CSI, right?" She looked at Grissom, expecting a smile, but there wasn't one.

"Something like that."

Her own smile faded as Greg tapped on the window, pointing to a paper, and Grissom stood up.

Greg opened the door and waved his hand in front of his face. "Sara, I never thought I'd say this, but…you stink."

Sara looked at him. "Thank you, Greg."

"No problem," he said, flashing white teeth, and then sprinted back down the hall.

"Good work on the case," Nick commented.

Sara glanced up. "Thanks."

"Goin' home?"

"Yep."

"Well, see ya."

"See ya."

Sara walked down the hallway, past Grissom's office, and didn't bother to glance in. It was the end of the case, the end of shift, and she was tired. She wanted to go home and try to forget this day ever happened. She knew, however, that forgetting wasn't quite so easy.


	2. Ten Thousand Cycles

Ten Thousand Cycles 

Sara massaged her neck with the hot washcloth. She'd rubbed it until it was sore, her skin raw, but the marks on the inside couldn't be washed away. Each time she closed her eyes she saw Grissom's face---the fear and desperation---and she shuddered; just what would he have done, she wondered, for the umpteenth time that day.

She scoffed. Probably nothing…what was there to be done, anyway? She stepped out of the bath and pulled her robe on, trying to push the thoughts from her mind. What happened, happened, end of story. She was fine, right? No real harm done. Get up, get out, get on with the case…get it over with and go home_. "Unload all your emotional shit at the door, Sara,"_ that little voice kept saying, _"pick it up, pack it up, one foot first, then the other. Stride right through."_

She stared at the bottles of beer in the refrigerator. When she realized her legs were cold from standing there so long with the door open, she bitch slapped that little voice and grabbed a bottle.

"Take that," she mumbled aloud, taking a gulp.

She flopped on the sofa and sat quietly, listening to the sounds of the city, and after another beer, let the sounds fade away.

_Grissom was pounding on her door…_

_When she answered she saw him standing there, breathless and shaken. He grabbed her and held her and toldl her how frightened he was, that he wanted nothing more than to bust through that goddamn door and save her from that monster…told her how much he loved her…_

Sara opened her eyes and frowned. "Gil Grissom would never do that," she said aloud. Her voice clarified it, she thought, better than her heart ever could---or would, for that matter, and she liked the sound of it. She liked the idea that she could say that and have it sound like she truly meant it, word for word, very much matter-of-factly.

She smiled.

_"If they could just get up to a hundred-thousand cycles per second they'd be in the realm of sound, light and spirit, and everything'd be just fine, right?"_

Sara jolted awake, grasping her neck, Adam Trent's voice echoing in her mind: _"I think I'm just vibrating at the wrong frequency."_

She thought a long while, and finally said, "Me too."

Nick sat the mug down on the table and Sara looked up.

"You too, what?"

She rubbed her head. "What?"

"Rough day?"

"Yeah." She looked around, realized she'd fallen asleep in the break room.

"What time is it?"

Nick checked his watch, "Got about fourteen minutes before shift starts, if you wanna finish your nap," he said with a smile, and Sara grimaced. She stood up and walked to Grissom's office.

"He's not in there."

She turned.

"Where is he?"

"Morgue with Doc."

"Thanks," she breathed, hurrying down the hall.

Hodges nodded.

"Gunshot wound to the chest. In and out."

"Wham, bam, thank you Ma'am," Grissom chimed, and Doc Robbins looked at him.

"Should have him tagged by…"

Sara stormed into the room then, and Grissom stared at her.

"Hi Doc," she said quickly, "Sorry…"

He waved a hand to dismiss the matter.

"Uh, Gris, I need to take some vacation time, if that's all right?"

Grissom checked his watch. "Sara, it's six minutes 'til shift."

"I have eleven weeks on the books, and I want a vacation."

Grissom glanced at Doc, who was smiling with his head down, and then led Sara out of the morgue. Once outside, he put a hand in his pocket.

"Is this about what happened with Adam?" His voice was softer, quieter---his concerned voice. "Because if it is, there are people you can talk to."

Sara put her head down and bit her tongue. When she looked back up, Grissom saw something cold in her eyes.

"I'm going. So if you could just sign off, I'd appreciate it."

He looked at her a moment longer before nodding, and Sara walked out.

Grissom stared at the unfinished crossword puzzle.

_Four letter word, four letter word…four…_

He stared at the boxes. Mentally, the pen wrote S-A-R-A, and Grissom sighed. She'd been gone a week and already it felt like an eternity. He was sure her leaving had to do with what happened. Nick had mentioned her being asleep in the break room and muttering, "Me too," but why? Why would she be asleep so close to the start of her shift? It was out of character for her. He smiled at a side thought: Human beings never ceased to amaze him.

He thought of this again, and he realized he seemed to forget that, he, too, was a human being. He liked to think of himself as above human emotions, above betrayal and anger and disappointment…above love. It was easier for him that way, easier for his work. People lie. People betray, people hurt, people wound. But the evidence…the evidence cannot lie, or betray, or hurt, or wound…the evidence is the only constant truth.

Grissom tossed the paper into the trashcan and rubbed his eyes.

His cell phone rang and he jumped, unaware that he'd dozed off.

He punched the button and mumbled, "Grissom."

In an instant he was sitting upright, wide awake.

"_What_?"

He saw the looks on their faces before entering the room. Warrick, Nick, Catherine, Greg…

_My God, it can't be true._

Brass stopped him in the hallway.

"It was just a phone call," he spoke softly, "We don't know anything for sure yet."

"You know it's a Sara Sidle from Las Vegas."

"There are four Sara Sidles living in Vegas, Gil," his friend retorted, "doesn't mean it's ours."

_Ours._ Grissom wanted to laugh, wanted to hit him…wanted to rewind the past seven days, ten hours, nineteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds of his life.

Grissom strode past him and into the room. He opened his brief case without saying a word. The CSI's sat silent.

"Catherine," he said, taking out a stack of papers, "419, Nick, Greg, 429, Warrick..." He glanced around.

"Yeah?"

He looked at him, unable to think of something suitable. "Stay close by," he said finally, and Warrick nodded.

"But Gil," Catherine began, taking the paper, and Grissom glared at her. "Catherine, we have work to do," he commanded, his voice daring her to mention a name, and she nodded.

He crossed his arms as they filed out of the room, the only sounds the shuffling of feet, and he felt sick. For the first time in a long while, Gil Grissom felt physically ill, and he didn't like it. After a moment he picked up his brief case and headed to his office. Once there, he called Brass.

"Jim. I need to know what was said, when it was said…" He paused. "I need to know what the hell's going on."

Sheriff Mobley entered Grissom's office, startling him.

"Where ya off to, Gil?" he asked, eyeing Grissom's coat and brief case in hand.

"419, but I'm sure you already know that, Brian." He moved to leave and Mobley stepped in front of him. "No you're not, Eckley has it."

"_Eckley_ is day shift."

"He's also not involved."

Grissom's face grew paler.

"This is my case, on my shift."

"Why don't you just finish that?

Grissom swallowed hard.

"Your case, your shift, _your_ CSI, right?" His expression hardened, "Eckley has it."

"Damnit, Brian, don't you do this." He tried to hold his temper.

"Conflict of interest, I believe, is what you call it, right?"

Grissom pursed his lips tightly together. He clenched his fist, his knuckles white at the bone.

"Matter of fact, I think you should take the night off, Gil." He turned to leave. "We'll call you when we know something." He strode off down the hall, calling out, "Warrick can cover you."

Grissom threw his coat across the room.

"This is bullshit," Warrick said to Lydia. "They won't let any of us near the scene."

Lydia cleared her throat and Warrick turned around to see Grissom.

"Warrick," he said calmly, "I've been given the night off by our gracious Sheriff Mobley, so you're to run graveyard."

He sighed and nodded. "All right, boss. You goin' home?"

"No."

Grissom walked down the hall and Warrick took a few steps after him. "Where will you be?"

"Away."

The coaster rolled on its tracks, rough, shaky, loud, and Grissom both loved and hated it. He sat as it went up, up…up…and when it began, rolling down the tracks faster and faster, the tears found him. The wind ripped through his skin, cold and unforgiving, and he cursed it. He let his body fall limp, the ride jostling him and bruising him---he hoped the physical pain would morph into the emotional---would blend without it until neither knew which was which, or which hurt worse---and he cried out. Here in the dark, on this damned rush of ups and downs, highs and lows, he cried out her name, knowing that only his heart would echo it later. Sara, his student, his CSI…his friend, his…

He closed his eyes and wept, the wind stealing his tears away as quickly as they'd formed, and his heart ached. A pain like he'd never known shot through him. Pain, anger, hurt, blame, betrayal…my God, he realized, even love…and for one brief moment, one brief rush, he let them consume him.

When the coaster began to slow to its stop Grissom laughed: maybe he was human, after all.

He stood up, shaky and weak, and the carnie looked at him.

"First time I ever seen _you_ look sick after a ride."

Grissom's laughter subsided as he walked away, and the carnie shook his head.

The lab stopped.

Catherine put down the evidence and ran into the hallway.


	3. A Hundred Thousand Cycles

**A Hundred Thousand Cycles**

Grissom opened the door on the third knock, his cell phone in hand, and was frozen.

"Catherine told me I should come see you? I'm not fired for coming in mid-way, am I?" She grinned. She looked tan, refreshed. He stared at her.

"Grissom? You okay?"

"_Sa---Sara_?"

"You okay?" she repeated, her voice concerned. She stepped past him and into the townhouse, closing the door behind her.

"Sara Sidle," he said, confirming the sight in front of him, and he grabbed her.

She stiffened, his arms tightening around her, and it was hard to breathe.

"Maybe I should…go on vacation more often," she laughed.

But Gil Grissom wasn't laughing. He was crying, and he went to his knees, pulling her with him.

"Jesus, Grissom, what's the matter?" She wrangled her arms free and took his face in her hands to look at him. His blue eyes were misted over, the tears flowing down his cheeks slowly, and he buried his face in her chest.

"I thought you were dead, Sara…" He lifted his head and held her by her forearms, "My God, don't you understand? I thought you were _dead_."

"I went to the beach. Y'know, sun and sand and surf?" she tried, and Grissom sniffled.

He looked at her, his half-rough hands smoothing her hair from her face, and Sara smiled. "I'm okay. I'm not dead. See?" she said, pinching her hand, "Flesh and blood."

Grissom nodded frantically and pulled her to him, placing kisses sporadically on her face and neck. Sara blinked and looked at him. He stood up and pulled her to her feet and she looked at him quizzically. "Who are you, and what did you do with the real Grissom?"

Grissom wiped quickly at his eyes. "'The real Grissom'?"

Sara shrugged, "Yeah, you know, 'Gruesome Grissom,' Tin Man…" She paused. "The robot."

Grissom frowned and shook his head. Without saying anything he took Sara's hand and placed it over his chest. "Do you feel that, Sara?"

She nodded.

"That irrational, racing pounding? Do you feel it?"

She nodded again as he stepped closer to her.

"That's your evidence." He smiled, caressed her cheek, "and the evidence never lies."

Sara smiled, tears welling in her eyes. "Guess it was just a cold case, then, huh?"

Grissom chuckled and sniffled again. He stared at her, and said the words with such emotion that Sara felt weak.

"I love you, Sara Sidle."

She laughed and cried at the same time as he kissed her.

"Case closed."

Sara eyed the butterflies along the wall as she waited for the coffee pot to stop. Grissom walked into the living room then, fresh from a shower, buttoning a blue dress shirt. Sara noticed him, chest momentarily bare, in jeans, with his feet bare, and she smiled.

"Feel better?"

He nodded.

Sara filled two mugs and took them to the coffee table. She sat down on the love seat, as did Grissom, and they were silent.

Sara sipped her coffee as Grissom stared at her and she laughed. "What?"

He shook his head and smiled. His eyes were bright, and Sara looked at him. His salt and pepper hair was wet and combed back, and he smelled of soap and fresh linen. She noticed that he hadn't shaved, and his stubble only accentuated his boyish face. He really was quite handsome.

"I'm just enjoying being able to look at you this way, that's all."

"What way?"

Grissom tilted his head in thought and took a sip of coffee.

"Uninhibited, unrestrained." He paused. "Unbound."

Sara smiled.

They sat there a moment longer and then Sara cleared her throat. "So, I, uh…I didn't really go to the beach. Well, I did, but not for a week," she laughed, and Grissom smiled. "I went to see this psychiatrist?" She looked at him, her statement voiced as a question, as if she were waiting for some sort of judgment of her from him. His expression didn't falter, so she continued, "He's really good with childhood trauma…and I talked with him a lot about my parents, what happened with Adam…" She looked down. "I was thinking about what he said, about operating at the wrong frequency, and I thought that maybe I was, too, y'know? And hell, maybe we all are, I don't know…maybe if we get to the right one the world will all seem good and decent and all right…maybe even 'normal,' and maybe then I could have you, after everything was okay, after I was okay." She looked at him. "So I decided to go talk with this guy and try and figure out why I feel the way I do, and I think it's a good thing, you know, to be able to finally get all of that out of the way?" She cleared her throat again. "And I don't know why I'm telling you all this," she grinned, rolling her eyes, "I feel like I have to explain everything to you so you won't think I was thinking of someone else, or…" Her voice faded when she realized what she'd said, and she looked at him, half expecting him to have that Grissom look on his face, but he didn't. He sat there, a tentative listener, interested in each word, and Sara glanced away.

"I uh, I just wouldn't want you to think that I'd given up on you," she said finally, and Grissom put a hand on her knee.

"Sara, it's okay to have a life."

His words stung. How could he say that, of all things, after admitting that he loved her? How could he go back to closed off, cold Grissom after that?

"I can't have a life if you're not in it, don't you get it?" She snapped, the tears welling again, and Grissom frowned: she'd misunderstood him again.

"I didn't mean it like that." He sighed. Why was it so hard for him to speak around this woman? He was an intelligent scientist, and yet, when in her presence, he stuttered like a helpless schoolboy.

"I know it's been a long time. I've turned down your advances---and you don't know how difficult it was for me, too, Sara---but I understood that you needed to have a life of your own." He shrugged, "Just because I was afraid of human contact didn't mean that you were, or that you should've been. Everybody needs somebody, as they say."

Sara looked at him. She spoke before thinking, "You don't," and he touched her face.

"I need you."

He'd said it without missing a beat, and Sara was surprised: Gil Grissom said something without breaking it down a hundred times in his mind to avoid any emotion getting in the way, without being ever so careful of the repercussions.

"I've always needed you. I just never knew how to put it into words." He chuckled. "You talk to me, and I sit silent, contemplating what to say, and how to say it…and althewhile my mind races with the things I want to say…_ache_ to say…" He shook his head, and Sara was intrigued. She shifted her weight to face him.

"And what things would those be?"

Grissom looked at her, hunger running through his entire being, and he decided to stop breaking things down and contemplating them and worrying about the repercussions.

"That I dream about making love to you, that I want to feel your skin," he scoffed, "without latex loves on." He sighed. "I want to hold you, to breathe you, to taste you…I want to be everything that you want me to be, Sara."

She cupped his face in her hands. "You already are, Gris."

For a moment Grissom doubted her, let his own fears creep into his mind again---but when she kissed him, they disappeared. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body to his, and when Grissom stopped kissing her, Sara pulled back. "What's wrong?"

Grissom raised an eyebrow, "Well, you remember that higher frequency you were talking about?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I think I'm already there."

Sara giggled.


End file.
